


Hot Summer Day

by MnyehLike (SilverDreemurr)



Series: Cursed RvB Food Fiction [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Almost food sex, Dessert & Sweets, Food, Other, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T, also you probably couldn't anyways but still, do not try this at home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24047821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverDreemurr/pseuds/MnyehLike
Summary: this was so close to being fucking terrible. you can't even believe
Relationships: Franklin Delano Donut & Sarge, Michael J. Caboose & Sarge, Sarge & Dick Simmons
Series: Cursed RvB Food Fiction [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734709
Comments: 9
Kudos: 2





	Hot Summer Day

Sarge sighs softly and wipes his brow, glaring up at the unrelenting midday sun. The heat was always bad in Blood Gulch, but this was fucking ridiculous. Summer always brought the worst heat waves, and this one seemed to be worse than all the others. He went to take a sip of his sweet tea but recoiled a bit when he found it had gone warm in the three minutes since he set it down.

Seriously, what the fuck.

He stands up and grumbles, then chucks the bottle over towards Blue Base. It made it all the way to Blue Base, and it was still high enough that he beaned Tucker in the face with it. Hell yeah, suck it Blue. He then sighs softly and looks back up at the sun, squinting. No use. He went back inside the base, and down to the mess hall to get a strawberry yoohoo. Hopefully, he could drink it before it went rancid just from being outside the fridge.

However, before he could even step foot in the direction of the kitchen, he could hear Caboose and Donut chattering away like...Well, like...Ah, fuck it. He didn’t know the analogy. They were being loud and gossipy. He marched into the kitchen, intent on ignoring them, but before he could grab his drink and make a mad dash for the door, he was pulled to the table by Caboose and put into a near-choke hold.

“RRGH- CABOOSE!” He struggles in the lad’s grip. “I told you to tell me before you came over!”

“Oops!” Caboose lets go of Sarge, who sighs softly in relief and cracks his neck. Damn, that boy had a grip. He then looks up at the blue rascal, who had a smile so bright it could rival the sun outside right now.

“...What are you looking at me like that for, son?”

“Aw, come on Sarge! Don’t sound like that! We just wanted to share something with you!” Donut smiles almost as bright as Caboose. These two were gonna be the damn death of him, either from going blind or from diabetes. But, his fault for not declining whatever they gave him.

“Yes! We’re sharing something! Donut showed me how to make ice cream!” Caboose hops up and down a bit. Sarge looks at the table they were standing at. It was covered with different paper recipes for ice cream, an ice cream maker, and...Surprisingly enough, a couple of tubs of decent looking ice cream. He raises a brow in surprise.

“And...You’re sure you mixed it right?” If it looked decent, that usually meant it tasted terrible.

“Yes! One hundred per-cent sure! We made chocolate and vanilla! We were gonna work on strawberry next. Wanna help us?” There they went with those damn smiles again. They had to have known what they were doing.

“Alright, alright, fine. Don’t expect me to be any real help, though.” He sighs softly as the boys cheer and jump up and down. He didn’t even know where these paternal instincts came from. They just took hold of him one day after Donut showed up, and it got stronger when he actually met Caboose. But, he didn’t hate it. This was nice. He imagined this was what civilian life would be like if he had actually retired when they told him to.

After some more attempts at making ice cream, they ended up with a pretty decent strawberry. Caboose then insisted on throwing an ice cream party for everyone, and Sarge reluctantly agreed. Damn these kids. The night was fun, though. Tucker brought beer, Simmons pulled out some nerd movies that were halfway decent for once, and Wash brought over tales of his cat, including pictures.

The next day came with a fuzzy head and a lot of warmth. When the hell had they all piled on Caboose and Grif to have a snooze? Caboose was kind of comfortable, though. He groaned quietly as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. He stumbled away from the couch and into the kitchen, going into the fridge and grabbing a jar of pickles. The Blues could get their own damn hangover cure, Simmons was picky, Grif was allergic to pickles, and Donut probably had a hangover cure planned for himself and Caboose.

After kicking the rest of the Blues out and sending the rest of his ki- kids? No, his team to their respective rooms to sleep off the rest of their hangovers, he sat in the living room to brood. Thankfully, they hadn’t made too much of a mess, so he didn’t need to call in Lopez. Simmons would clean it by himself in time. He ran a hand through his hair and sat back, staring up at the ceiling. He felt restless. No attacking the Blues, they were nursing their own hangovers. Unsportsmanlike. He glanced in the direction of the kitchen. There was still some strawberry ice cream left…

He shook his head and huffed. He wasn’t Wash. If anyone found out, he was finished. He couldn’t let his reputation get tarnished.

…

Everyone was asleep…

And...It’s not like he was...Fucking a whole tub of ice cream. That would be weird. He gets up and goes over to the freezer, asking himself what he was doing the whole time. Okay, he had about a minute to convince himself this was not a bad idea.

Pros, it’s cold, it’s red, it’s not gonna ruin all the ice cream, if he was brave he could probably eat it afterwards. Cons...Now that he thought about it, would news even leave the red base? He doubted anyone would catch him but Donut or Lopez. Nobody understood Lopez, and nobody would believe Donut. When he comes back from his thoughts, he finds himself with a cone and scoop in hand, and the tub of ice cream open on the counter. Well...It was simple. And, thank god for the insistence on buying the big waffle cones. He wouldn’t have been able to fit in those cake cones. He scoops some out, puts it in the cone, closes the tub, then puts it back.

Okay. He could do this. He puts the scoop in the sink, then stares at the cone. He doubted he would just be able to...stick it in. He grabs a spoon and carves out a hole. Halfway through, he realizes that he’s putting way too much effort into fucking an ice cream cone. He sighs softly and shakes his head. He couldn’t say he had a bucket list, but if he did, fucking a food item was definitely on it. He sets the spoon down when he’s done. Yep, good enough.

He unzips his cargo pants, shoves his boxers down a bit, then just...He hesitates. Was this really a good idea? Something something sugar and genitals didn’t mix...Wait, that was for a girl. He wasn’t a girl. He takes a quick deep breath then starts easing it down onto his di-holy shit nevermind that was cold as FUCK. He grumbles and stops, lifting it back up.

Well, that was a waste of ice cream. He sighs softly and just eats the ice cream. What was that whole idea about fucking the cone, anyways? Pure nonsense. He wasn’t that stupid.

He was, however, very forgetful. He was jarred from his snack by a shrill screech, followed with a thud. He looked over at the doorway to see Simmons, crumpled to the floor. He then looks down and notices that he didn’t zip back up. He grumbles quietly and fixes himself back up, then goes over to Simmons and picks him up. Sleeping on the floor wasn’t good for your neck, or your back, or your anything. Good thing he didn't actually fuck the cone, that would not only be stupid, but even more scarring for his son.


End file.
